Someone must have been telling lies about Kenneth C, he knew he had done nothing wrong but, one afternoon, he was summoned to the House of Commons. A debate was being held about Kenneth C’s Justice and Security Bill, and people were making his plan for “secret courts” sound like something out of Kafka.

C’s plan was dangerous and unnecessary, they said. It would deny citizens the right to know the evidence against them. It would undermine the fairness of court hearings. It was contrary to our precious traditions of openness.

Bewildered and frustrated, C protested his innocence. “An ordinary intelligent person from the outside world would be quite baffled as to what is causing us such concern,” he insisted. His bill was proportionate and sensible. It was solely, in exceptional circumstances, for terrorist suspects. It was vital for reasons of national security. The current system was unworkable, because the Government kept having to pay out millions in damages to terrorist suspects rather than air sensitive information in court.

But his accusers wouldn’t listen. It seemed that they’d found C guilty before he’d even had the chance to begin his defence.

“This is a nightmare,” thought C. “It doesn’t make any difference what I say. There I was, innocently going about my business, and suddenly it’s been decided that in some obscure way I’m a threat to the country. They think my bill is like something out of Kafka – well, how do they think I feel, facing all these baseless accusations? It’s as if I’ve turned into that poor chap with the funny name from The Trial.

“I can’t quite remember what happened to him at the end, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t putting his feet up at the club with a brandy.”

C glanced about the crowded room. Through the sickly light he could make out row upon row of anonymous faces gazing down at him from the galleries. The air was thick and heavy. It made him feel ill. He had never felt at ease in this vast, dark building, with its labyrinthine corridors and mysterious staircases and endless rooms, all swarming with people he’d never seen before and might never see again.

It had been well over a year ago that C submitted his green paper. In the long months since, his plans had made their way slowly through the building, being silently altered, complicated and diluted by one shadowy figure after another. Sometimes C wondered whether his bill would survive this relentless bureaucratic persecution – or die like a dog.

“Every time we produce an amendment, further amendments are produced,” said C helplessly. “Every time I make concessions, we move on to a fresh set of demands… I invite the House to apply a modicum of common sense… We have debated this endlessly…”

But still complaints and criticisms came.

“Oh well,” thought C, “I suppose things could be worse. At least I didn’t wake up as a gigantic insect.”